Separated Scenes
by Karashi
Summary: A series of one-shots and drabbles based on the prompts from Maddie-san's LJ community. May or may not be connected to each other. May or may not involve lemons. May be set in an AU or in Canon.
1. Offer

**Disclaimers:** Dragon Ball Z and its respective characters belong to Akira Toriyama.

**Author's Notes: **This is a series of responses written for Madison's writing community Blue and Black (community[dot]livejournal[dot]com/bulmavegeta) over on LJ. Responses are not connected to each other unless otherwise stated.

**Warning:** There is no plot, but there is a lemon.

* * *

**Prompt:** Passion  
**Title:** Offer

Bulma wasn't sure how long it's been since the Nameks set off to their new home planet. She didn't see the need to keep track of time as the days bled from one project to another, pausing only to relax with her friends as she settled to life back on Chikyuu, her last adventure having cured her of her wanderlust. While the green-skinned aliens had kept to themselves and out of sight during their stay, Bulma was going to miss them. Ki sensing abilities or no, she knew the serene calm that had blanketed her home was due to the peaceful, empathic nature of her guests. It was all the more evident when the warmth and comfort that had enveloped the Briefs Residence was abruptly stripped away upon their departure. Replaced with a suffocating, incessant tension that had gotten stronger.

It may have been because of that mysterious boy who arrived to warn them of an impending threat. But Bulma attributed it more to Vegeta's unrelenting quest to train himself to death.

She didn't want a repeat of the last time. There was nothing pleasant about the icy fear that knotted in her stomach or the cold dread that crashed over her when the GR had exploded. With Vegeta still inside it. She didn't doubt the Saiyan deserved to die for all the atrocities he had committed while serving under Freiza, but Bulma thought herself as a good person. She wasn't about to have his blood on her hands. Not when she could have done something to prevent it. At least, that's what she told herself when they finally managed to dig him out of the wreckage and barely got him onto the operating table.

Rather than thanking them for saving his life, he had the gall to insult them! He snarled that if it weren't for their inferior, antiquated technology it wouldn't have exploded in the first place. _Clearly_ the GR's destruction had nothing to do with the insanely high levels the Saiyan had been repeatedly punching into the program.

The sweet curve of her smile twisted into a grimace, eyes hardening at his words as she glared at him with the full intensity of her anger. It would have made a lesser man blanche. But of course, Vegeta only sneered at her little display of defiance.

"You should remember your place, Woman," He warned, in that casually menacing voice of his.

Bulma should have let it slide, should have continued to play the role of good hostess, should have held her tongue instead of snapping back. The man had been trying her patience since day one and being nice and accommodating to him had done nothing to make living with him any easier. "Pretty sure that since you are living in _my_ house, my _place_ is being your superior, my dear Saiyan no Ouji," she couldn't help the condescension slathered thickly in her voice when she used his royal title. "You should remember _your_ place, you ungrateful bastard!"

Fear flit briefly across her delicate features when she realized what she had done. Then just as quickly as it appeared, she forced it away. She didn't regret a single word and she felt damn good for finally giving him a piece of her mind. If he decided to kill her, as she guessed he was planning on doing from the look of black murder in those dark, intense eyes, well at least she had the satisfaction of having told him off first.

His hand was around her throat, stars winking before her eyes from impact the back of her head made as she was slammed against the wall. His grip was surprisingly gentle but no less strong, or immovable.

"I would watch my mouth if I were you," He growled, his breath hot on her face. He smirked in that oh-so-smug way when she instinctively winced. But it disappeared when he saw the steel in her resolve and the blatant defiance in her eyes. She was done cowering before him.

"You mean you actually notice things that don't involve food or your precious GR?" she snorted.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, "I notice a great many things. For example: The way you enjoy wearing little more than those fabric scraps you try to pass of as clothing. Or that you're always sneaking glances at me from the corner of your eye when you think I'm not looking. Let's not forget your habit of leaving your room unlocked and returning to it at hours no one is awake to hear you scream."

It took all of Bulma's will to stamp down the beginning tremors of terror before they made themselves felt to the man who had her by the neck. She wasn't sure which frightened her more: that he was threatening her bodily harm or the guilty thrill that shot up her spine that he had been watching her rather than ignoring her. She held his gaze, unflinching but very aware of the power he was restraining in order to make a point. If he meant to kill her, he would do so in the most agonizingly slow way he was capable.

Rather than crumble in defeat, the certainty of her fate gave her scientific mind the comfort and strength it needed to deal with him. "I'm flattered," she crooned, as if the hand that clenched around her neck was nothing more than an unusual accessory she had picked out herself. "That I could have such an effect on you."

His eyes narrowed as he bared his fangs in a cruel grin, "Don't be. I tend to destroy those that annoy me."

"What a coincidence! So do I!" She shot back through grit teeth.

He stared at her for a few moments, then threw his head back and laughed. "You don't have what it takes, Woman," he sneered, slowly releasing his hold on her.

She gave him a dazzling smile and with a haughty flip of her hair she purred, "If you say so, Ouji-sama." She turned on her heels and sauntered to her room where she decidedly left the door unlocked. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of pushing her around anymore and thought that maybe, just maybe he'd start treating her with a little more respect now that she stood up to him.

Oh how she thought wrong.

* * *

If the blue-haired heiress thought the ruthless, disgruntled Saiyan prince was difficult when he had first arrived, he was absolutely impossible from then on. Which was why, on a hot sweltering day like today, she wasn't hunched over her desk in her air-conditioned room or lounging by the pool or reading in the shade. Why instead, she was on her knees, up to her elbows in spilt oil and scorched circuitry and glad she had worn her work gloves and coveralls.

She muttered beneath her breath, words that most people thought too unsavory to be spoken, let alone by a woman of her stature. Then again, most women of stature hadn't grown up surrounded with friends capable of leveling mountains and decimating continents. Nor did they spend most of their free time attending to the whims of dethroned royalty, who was more of a royal pain in the ass.

"I told him not to go over four hundred. So what does he do? He raises it to fucking _five_ hundred," she growled in an unconscious mimicry of said royal pain in the ass. Her blue eyes glared at the components melted beyond repair and was glad, for the nth time since she and her father rebuilt the GR, she had the foresight to install the fail-safe mechanism.

"Can't tell if he's stupid or suicidal," She grumbled, unscrewing the corroded parts from their mounting.

"I could say the same about you, Woman."

"You already do," she snorted with a roll of her eyes while she yanked at a cluster of wires. "And feel free to stop staring at my ass. I already know it's fantastic," she smirked, wiggling her rear in emphasis. If she had actually _seen_ the way he was looking at her with an almost feral hunger glittering in those obsidian eyes, Bulma would have thought twice about the gesture.

By the time she finished with the repairs and emerged from underneath the console, Vegeta had schooled his features back into his customary, unimpressed scowl, his eyes staring hard at her. She quirked a brow at him, removing her work gloves to stuff them into her pocket before looking down at her attire.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ouji-sama," she used his title with about as little reverence as he did the word Woman. "I thought you _preferred_ it when I wore more than fabric scraps," she wondered in feigned confusion, an obvious reference to their first argument. And there had been many, many arguments between then and now, most of them ending with either party thinking themselves victor when it was actually a stalemate.

"My displeasure has nothing to do with your clothing," he stated flatly, if not sounding a little disgusted at her insinuation, "It's the pathetic rate you're taking in fixing the machine."

"Well if a certain _someone_ actually listened to my instructions of not overloading the GR, there wouldn't be a need to fix it in the first place!" She snapped, arms akimbo.

Kami, why was she losing her temper so quickly with him? She had done just fine in keeping her anger in check before she decided to stand up to him. Maybe she had favored her fear for so long that since she was no longer ignoring her anger, it was coming back tenfold? That was it, most likely. She refused to think it could be because Vegeta had an uncanny way of getting under her skin. That the mere sight of the man made her blood boil, that the velvet rumble of his voice made her skin flush with heat, that his-no, no, and no! She got angry with him because he was a rude, sadistic, inconsiderate asshole who took her and her family's hospitality for granted and she was having no more of it!

"And how do you expect me to become strong enough to defeat Kakarrot if I can't push my body to its limit?" He glared, stalking up to her with a refined grace that would have made her knees weak had he been anyone else.

But because he was Vegeta and not anyone else, Bulma straightened herself to her full height and met him with a mocking "Am I hearing you correctly? The great Vegeta actually asking a mere woman for her opinion?"

He cut her off with a laugh, a malicious gleam in his dark eyes, "And you're not the genius you claim yourself to be if you can't identify a rhetorical question when you hear one."

Bulma grit her teeth, biting back a scream as she squashed the desire to slap the knowing smirk off his face. Kami help her, if she only had _some_ measure of Ki she would have already tried that. And probably ended up with a broken neck. But with the way he had been trying to get a rise out of her lately, that option was looking more and more tempting.

"Oh fuck you!" She hissed and tried to sidestep past him.

He blocked her easily, leaned in close until they were nose-to-nose, and with that infuriating smirk on his lips purred, "Is that a serious offer?"

Bulma prayed the smudges of grease on her face would hide the blush that she was certain burned her cheeks. There was no doubt she considered the Saiyan attractive despite his nasty disposition and temper. And there had been times during the moments she fluttered between sleep and wakefulness where she wondered what it must feel like to run her fingers over the well-sculpted plane of his muscular body, or how he would respond while she ran her tongue along the length of his neck.

But she would never see them as anything more than her mind telling her how sleep-deprived she was to be having these kinds of thoughts, wouldn't she? Not even now that she'd permanently broke it off with Yamcha. She found it strange, even disconcerting that the Saiyan could command such intense feelings from her. She stared at him, wide-eyed in shock and disbelief until she spied the mocking curve of his lips. She hated how easily he could toy with her emotions.

Arms akimbo and her shoulders squared back, she snarled, "Oh please, I happen to have _standards_."

"You think too highly of yourself, Woman," though he radiated an arrogance that was unrivaled, he spoke in a tone that promised a slow, painful death if she did not choose her next words very carefully.

She looked thoughtful for a moment then declared cheekily, "I think I damn well deserve to if I've managed to make _you_ consider it."

"Do you honestly believe I desire you?" He scoffed, stepping away from her, his dark features a grim taunt.

She shrugged, the gesture suitably hiding the sharp pang of disappointment stabbing into her gut at his words. _Let him say whatever he wants,_ Bulma decided, _his words have no power over me._ Oh what a barefaced lie that was. His words, his actions, even the way he looked at her had a tremendous effect on her. However, she was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"No," she said nonchalantly, answering his challenging gaze with her own glittering blue eyes, "I think you're just mad I saw right through your gambit."

And with that she left, head held high and a sultry sway in her hips.

* * *

She was in the living room, glaring at several large boxes of parts and components in consternation when Vegeta came across her. The delivery men just left their heavy load there and Bulma had no way of getting them to the storage room on her own. She had cannibalized the parts for her server droids to fix the GR's training equipment until the parts arrived and she supposed, in hindsight, she should have left one whole.

She was muttering calculations under her breath, trying to figure out which training gear to dismantle for her makeshift server droid.

"Touch anything in the GR and I will end you, woman," Vegeta growled into her ear.

Bulma jumped, a shriek poised on her lips. She willed herself to maintain her composure before turning her attention to the Saiyan standing beside her. "Kami, do you always have to sneak up on me, Vegeta?" she snapped. She frowned at his chuckles and crossed her arms over her chest. "I was only going to dismantle the bots just long enough to get these things into storage."

Vegeta eyed the large boxes marked with the Capsule Corporation's logo, "Why don't you normally have that weakling carry these for you?"

She blinked and suddenly looked away, hoping he hadn't seen the brief flash of hurt and regret in her eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but Yamcha and I broke up weeks ago." While they had parted on relatively amicable terms, Bulma couldn't help but think it awkward to ask a favor of her former boyfriend this soon. "Besides, I don't need him." She added softly, immediately cursing the vulnerability she heard in her voice.

No doubt Vegeta would have heard it too and she braced herself for his mockery. Only it never came. Instead, he hoisted the boxes onto his shoulders and asked, "Which storage room do these go to, Woman?"

Blue eyes stared at him in disbelief. Was this some sort of trick? Vegeta couldn't possibly be doing this without a reason and he had shown Bulma he wasn't the charitable sort. "Storage room 7," she answered, quickly leading the way before he changed his mind or made demands.

"Could you put those three by the wall, please?" She tried her best to make it sound like a request rather than instructions, and to her surprise Vegeta did as she asked without incident or an insult exchanging between them.

"That's everything," she nodded, impressed at how quickly she finished with Vegeta's help. She turned to the surly Saiyan who had been quiet all this time and gave a smile she had never shown him before. It was not the smug triumph of having bested him, nor the false pleasantries of the gracious hostess, it wasn't even the coy teasing of the seductress. It was just an honest, open smile of gratitude and appreciation. "Thanks for your help, Vegeta."

He regarded her uncomfortably for a moment; brows furrowed pensively, then quickly snarled, "I only did this so you would leave the GR alone. You've cut into my training enough as it stands."

Normally, Bulma would have bristled at him but she noted he lacked his usual hostility and decided it was Saiyan-speak for You're Welcome. So she giggled, even went so far as to wink, "Don't worry, Ouji-sama, I'll make it up to you."

Vegeta was suddenly pressed up against her side. "And how do you plan on doing that, Woman?" He purred into her ear, the heat of his breath and the faint rumble of his voice sending delicious, thrilling tremors coursing through her body. Her back was not up against a wall and he kept his arms folded behind him. But oh Kami, he was standing so close, _too_ close that she felt trapped.

She willed herself to look him in the eye, nearly shrinking back when she saw the unabashed want in the depths of his dark gaze. Heat bloomed in the pit of her stomach and sent her heart racing. It was all she could to remember to breath.

"I've been working on an upgrade for your GR," she quickly supplied. "And now that the parts have arrived, I can finish it."

She watched his jaw clench, saw his entire body straining in an internal war that Bulma wished she neither noticed nor understood. "I see," he managed to say. He spoke so coldly she could practically see frost forming on his lips. "I suppose that would be satisfactory."

"Did you have something else in mind?" she asked bluntly, uncertain whether she would like any answer he would give her.

His mouth twisted from a scowl to a leer, "You're supposed to be a genius, Woman. Haven't you figured it out?"

"I have. And that's what I was afraid of," she whispered.

"You fear me not because I'm a Saiyan but because I am a man?" He sounded amused, a brow quirked in curiosity. He tucked a strand of her aqua hair behind her ear with a tenderness she didn't think he was capable. "You are an odd, little thing." His fingers lightly stroked her cheek and she sighed into his touch, her lips brushing against his palm in a feathery kiss.

She heard him growl and the next thing she knew she was against the wall, his mouth closed over hers. Blindly, they divested themselves of their clothes in a blur of motion to explore each curve, each dip of the other's body unhindered. With one hand he pinned her wrists overhead, leaving her exposed, vulnerable, helpless. His breath was hot against her neck, his tongue and teeth laboring over the small stretch of skin where her neck ended and her shoulder began. Each rough caress on her skin ignited desire through her body and made the aching need at the junction of her thighs grow more and more incessant.

With practiced ease, he kneed her thighs apart, sliding her upwards just high enough her toes barely touched the floor. She felt his arousal resting at her entrance. One hand trailed down from her breast, ran along her side and stopped to firmly grasp her hip, holding her still with no amount of effort on his part. He had known she would buck against him and relished the frustration in her voice with each, haggard breath she took.

"Do you want this, Woman?" He asked, the raw, primal hunger in his eyes betraying the calm control in his voice.

Her rational mind was screaming at her to stop this, that the very same hands every single inch of her was burning for were covered in the blood of the innocent. She knew he would never be able to give her intimacy beyond the physical sort, that this was nothing more sex to him, that she deserved someone better.

But Kami help her, for all his faults, for all the aggravation and terror and blinding fury he put her through she wanted him.

"Y-yes," she gasped, letting him see the undeniable need was mirrored in her own eyes. Some dim portion of Bulma's consciousness wondered what he would have done if she said no, but the wicked grin on Vegeta's face, fangs bared like a predator with its prey drove away all coherent thought.

She took a sharp intake of air when he pushed into her but he didn't stop until he was completely sheathed inside her. She heard his faint moan, and she resisted making a self-satisfied chuckle. He let go of her wrists then, bracing himself against the wall with his hands on either side of Bulma, trapping her as though she would regain her senses and try to flee. She quelled his worries by wrapping her arms tight around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder and breathing in his scent.

"Go slow, please," she whispered with not a hint of fear in her voice.

"You're in no position to negotiate," his laughter rumbled against her frail body, but he did as she asked. He took his time, increasing his speed in measured increments until the small, whimpers of pain she made were shallow gasps of pleasure, and was eventually rewarded with a low, guttural moan and a tight, delicious clenching around his length.

She wrapped her legs around his waist as she arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest. She angled her head, kissing the line of his jaw until she locked her lips with his. She was exploring every inch of his skin her hands could reach with an instinctive, possessive greed that was all but a declaration of the longing she'd felt for him. Her hand snaked between their bodies, sliding down to where she enfolded him and at her touch he seemed to lose it. His thrusts took on a fevered urgency but his control didn't go slack, even as he pounded the breath from her lungs, his rough, calloused hands kneading, teasing her where she was the most sensitive. Each deep thrust he made pushed her closer to the edge until she thought she'd go mad with the wanting.

A choked sob escaped her lips.

"Woman, are you-" the rest of his words dissolved into a ferocious, starving growl when the beginnings of her climax swept her up in a massive wave of pleasure and her body bucked and thrashed in reaction. She felt his entire form grow taut, felt him try to impress as much of himself on her person as he could without injuring her when he spilt himself inside her.

She heard a dull crack and fine powder settled against her hair. She turned her head and found deep indentations where Vegeta had braced his hands against the storage room walls.

"I am not fixing that," she mumbled flatly.

He chuckled, nipping lightly at her lower lip, "You're usually so concerned about being discreet."

"I still am, you arrogant bastard. I meant I am not fixing that right now," Bulma smirked and clung to him just a little tighter.

Vegeta understood the words and the gesture and gave her a wolfish grin, "Good. I'm not quite finished with you, yet."

"I'm flattered that I could have such an effect on you," she teased.

"Hn. You think too highly of yourself, Woman," he snorted. "I may not be so gentle this time around."

And he wasn't. And she didn't care.


	2. Countdown

**Author's Notes:** Written in a "Bulma works for Frieza" sort of setting. While it shares certain names with Play Nice, they aren't connected even if I sorely wish I could incorporate it. Please note that we are allowed to interpret prompts very, very, _very_ loosely.  
**Warning:** Neither plot nor lemons

* * *

**Title:** Countdown  
**Prompt:** Aqua

Fingers drummed impatiently on the computer console while blue eyes read the lines of code that flashed across the monitor. No one enjoyed running diagnostic scans on the regeneration tanks, least of all the blue-haired Chikyuu-jin currently comparing the current readout from the one taken a month ago. Most free-man techs found the task took too long, or was too boring. But Bulma's desire to get it over and done with had nothing to do with the duration or the monotony.

Instead, it had everything to do with the sole patient currently occupying a regeneration tank.

Every now and again, from the corner of her eye, she would sneak a peek at the dark-haired Saiyan floating in the liquid. And each time she found him unmoving she released a small sigh of relief. Unconsciously, she had unbuttoned the collar to her coveralls, as if it would alleviate the suffocating feeling the proximity between them caused.

"Miint, the charts says he won't be let out for another hour and a half," Bulma remarked to her fellow Free-man tech. "You don't have to spend your lunch break babysitting me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Bulma!" The small, gangly female alien gasped, "We all heard what he said to you in the hallway! And," she swallowed, her voice dropping to a whisper, "And the Saiyan no Ouji doesn't make idle threats."

"The Saiyan no Ouji is just like every other warrior on this base: A fucking bully," Bulma sighed, her voice equally soft but the distaste was unmistakable.

Miint was about to say something when the pager attached to her hip went off. The free-man tech read the message and gasped. "Mastertech Chooco wants to see me about the schematic I submitted."

"That's wonderful! Go! This might mean a promotion for you!" Bulma declared happily for her friend.

"B-but I can't leave you alone with him!" Miint hissed horrified at what might happen to the Chikyuu-jin.

Bulma rolled her eyes and was grateful she was not the only free-man tech with negligible Ki. She managed to push the protesting alien girl out the door, all the while insisting, "I'll be fine. I'll be done in no time." Unfortunately, her attention was too focused on sending her friend away that she failed to notice the Saiyan was watching her with half-lidded obsidian eyes and a dark predatory grin as dark as his spiked hair.

When she turned her attention back to him, he was the picture of sleep and stillness. She stared at him, hard and suspicious, before reluctantly fixing her gaze back to the computer monitors. A shrill beep indicated a suspicious section in the system, and Bulma filled the air with expletives.

_This is not happening,_ she growled at the screen, fingers furiously typing at the console indicating that the diagnostic scan would be delayed by a full two hours. And by then, the regeneration tank would have finished healing its patient. Bulma could call Miint back, but she didn't want to jeopardize her friend's chance at improving her station in life. And more importantly, if she did, it meant she was afraid of _him_, which she was. Hell, she was terrified of the Saiyan, even now while he was unconscious. Each involuntary twitch of his muscles made her want to jump out of her skin.

She grit her teeth, willing away her fear through nothing more than her own indomitable sense of pride and stubbornness. (Admittedly the same things that got her in this mess in the first place.) Maybe she had let Zarbon's protection go to her head, or maybe she just didn't appreciate having her work destroyed, insulted, thrown at her feet, and be demanded she fix it.

All by the same person.

_I am not giving him the satisfaction,_ she decided with finality and promptly sat down to continue her task. She blocked him from any further thoughts in a declaration of how little he and his threat affected her. But another undone button to her coveralls seemed to sing _Liar, liar._

_

* * *

_Despite the soothing, weightlessness of the regeneration tank, Vegeta's mind was sharp and focused. He heard the annoying Woman and her companion enter the room, as usual the Chikyuu-jin was complaining about the task at hand. What exactly she said, he didn't really care but the irritation in her voice pleased him. He enjoyed hearing her all riled up, as she tended to be whenever their paths crossed.

And knowing he was the cause made it all the sweeter for the Saiyan.

However, her state of distress was insufficient punishment for all she put him through. She was the reason he needed healing. The mouthy tech had the audacity to talk back to him! _Him!_ The Saiyan no Ouji! Everyone else on this wretched base, save for Zarbon, knew to show him the proper respect and feared who he was and what he was capable.

He decided to be merciful during their first encounter because he didn't intend to destroy the training simulator she designed. He had felt himself approach the barrier that kept him from ascending and forced the program beyond its highest and most dangerous setting. His training proved too much for the machine and it exploded before Vegeta could even see any progress in his own power. Everyone else on the base had felt the tremendous surge in his Ki, even the practically Ki-less species.

In his frustration, Vegeta stormed to the control room, not even deigning to let go of the charred droid he had in his grip as he demanded to know the identity of the free-man tech that built the simulation chamber. An unfamiliar name reached his ears and his lack of recognition prompted the image of a young woman to appear on one of the control room's monitors.

"Bulma Briefs of Chikyuu. She declined each time Zarbon offered her the position of Mastertech. She worries everyone will think she got the position because Zarbon fancies her," the overseer explained, though it sounded suspiciously like a warning.

Vegeta snorted, Frieza's second-in-command did not frighten him, though some small part of him could see why the woman caught Zarbon's eye. He shook his head free of that thought and set off to find her, unaware of the droid he dragged behind him. He tracked her tiny Ki signature down and found her chattering excitedly with her fellow free-man techs.

They all froze when they laid eyes on him, even the Chikyuu-jin. Until, that is, her crystalline gaze fell upon the droid he had with him. She let out a strangled snarl and visibly fought to control the anger flashing in her eyes.

"Woman, your inferior machine broke down. And it's costing me precious training time," he growled, finally realizing what he held and tossed it at the group. They shrank back, except for Bulma who stood her ground, even as the robot came to a stop at her feet. "I expect it to be repaired and capable of going beyond its original limits by tomorrow morning."

He was about to stalk away when he heard her yell, "You didn't say please!"

He turned to face her, dark eyes radiating both amusement and contempt as his tail lightly flicked against the corridor wall and left a fairly sizable hole. "What was that, Woman?"

She folded her arms across her chest, unflinching and unimpressed at his attempt at intimidation. "First, I have a name. It's Bulma. Use it. Second, who do you think you are ordering me around when you're no Captain? And third, I set the limits at that level for a reason, you muscle-brained moron!"

Vegeta slowly marched up to her, his Ki pouring from him in waves. It left the other techs cowering amongst each other. Perhaps it was because the Chikyuu-jin couldn't sense his Ki that allowed her the unbending impudence that steeled her delicate features. But he had seen the minute tremor that briefly rippled through her body underneath the baggy coveralls. She had felt it and was just as terrified as the others.

Yet here she was, glaring back at him as if she was the superior fighter and he was the lowly tech. As if she was _letting_ him approach her until he was close enough that each breath he took filled his senses with her scent. And by the gods it filled him with an intense want that came second only to his goal of ascending. This must be why she was Zarbon's favorite, he concluded. He beat the hunger back with his pride that she had wounded with her insolence.

Vegeta was vaguely aware of the crowd composed of free-man techs and warriors that had formed to watch the scene that was unfolding before them. Well, if they wanted a show, the Saiyan was more than willing to comply.

"First, _Woman,_ I will call you whatever the hell I want. Because second, I am Vegeta, Saiyan no Ouji, and I do not need to be a Captain to order you around. And third, the reasoning of a feeble intellect is no proper point of reference for Warriors, you ignorant little wench."

The stunned expression on her face was priceless. It did not last. Heavy work boots stepped onto the discarded droid, boosting her height so that she had to tilt her head in order to be eye-level with him. It made the patronizing way she cooed at him all the more aggravating. "So sorry, Ouji-sama, but I designed and built the training simulator for _mature_ warriors. Like Zarbon. It's not for brash, over-confident grunts that think better with their fists than their heads. Like You."

He would have vaporized her for insulting him had she been anyone else. He would have set her alight with his Ki and laughed as she burned into ashes. But for reasons that would forever elude him, he grabbed her by the collar of her coveralls. He ignored the gasps of horror that surrounded him and the screams of tearing fabric as he held her aloft. He was enjoying the fear that flashed in those hypnotic, bright blue eyes. For all of one second before it was replaced with a triumphant calm. The look in her eyes, as if she expected as much, fanned the flames of his anger even higher.

Vegeta felt her grab at his arm. It took him a moment to realize she was not trying to pry herself free. It took him another moment to realize she was using him to hide the fact that she was exposed. He had torn the front of her coveralls and only he was given the view of the smooth, creamy skin she hid beneath her clothing, of the luscious curve of her breasts, and the sweet promise of her nipples if the fabric fell away just a fraction of an inch more. He leered up at her and at the tinge of red the apples of her cheeks took. His burning rage twisted into maddening want when he realized her scent was faintly laced with desire.

If there weren't so many people present, Vegeta would have had her right there. Instead, he lowered her to the ground and let her go when she managed to cover herself.

"Zarbon's favorite be damned," he growled, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Woman, you better pray I never catch you alone."

Word about the Saiyan no Ouji's death threat spread like wildfire. It wasn't long before it reached the blue-skinned Captain's ears and he fell upon the Prince with outrage at having what was his attacked.

"All I did was put the stupid bitch in place," Vegeta spat along with a mouthful of his blood.

"I heard she put you in your place first, Monkey."

"Then I am justified in my retaliation."

"Doesn't matter. You still touched what was mine. And I'm not very good at sharing."

A wide, feral grin split Vegeta's face, "Neither am I."

Zarbon had beaten him to the point of death and withheld the killing blow only because "It would upset Bulma if I dirty my hand with your worthless blood. She's far too soft-hearted for the likes of us."

Vegeta would have asked how Zarbon didn't see the strength of her will when he looked into her eyes. Instead, he gave a wet, gurgle of a mocking laugh.

So here he was. In a regeneration tank in the very same room as the woman who put him there, though not by her own hands. Though the liquid in the tank blurred the edges of his vision, he managed to see why she was cursing everything to hell and back. He would be done with his treatment before she would be done with her work. And her soft-spoken, twitchy companion was nowhere in sight.

He chuckled behind the mask, air bubbles escaping. His eyes were closed but he could feel her watching him warily. He focused on his breathing. In. Hold. Out. Hold. It was very reminiscent of a countdown.

* * *

**Thank You's:** babysunflower, Aestas, and RetroGirl. (And to everyone in the Blue & Black LJ community.) Because I really do appreciate the reviews. Thank you very much.


	3. Threefer

**Author's Notes:** Here are three drabbles in one update because the first two are connected to each other but hopefully can still make sense by themselves. They were both also inspired by the same song "Neon Lights (Nebula)" by Rico Blanco. The third drabble is a silly interlude between Countdown and the more serious continuation I'm currently plotting at the reviewers' insistence.

* * *

**Title:** Preemptive  
**Prompt:** Silhouette

_"He's waiting for the drink in her hand to turn into a kiss."_

There was laughter in Capsule Corporation's grand hall, laughter, music, conversations barely heard above the friction of elbow rubbing. Servants, unobtrusive, indistinct, the food and drink on silver platters far more eye-catching than they, waded through the sea of richly dressed bodies that was West Capital's social elite.

In the shadows of a pillar, Vegeta watched as members of the supposed elite dragged the Woman back and forth across the room. His eyes narrowed at the men's constant attempts to get her inebriated and he heard himself snarl as if this offended him. He shook his head, deciding to disappear back into the GR when he saw she had settled in a dimly lit alcove to converse with one man.

Her Ki had shifted from guarded to relaxed and she was consuming more and more wine. He ignored the tug of concern and snorted. If she couldn't hold her liquor, well, it was just one more proof of her inferiority. But the man's Ki shifted as well from cautious to predatory and Vegeta found he did not like the way the man stood so close to the Woman.

Vegeta was a blur of movement in the corner of people's eyes.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Preemptive told from Bulma's point of view.

**Title:** Possessive  
**Prompt:** Flame

_"She starts to wonder why her heart's beating like this."_

"You look positively radiant, Bulma-chan!" cooed an elderly woman, taking her hostess by the wrist and pulling her with a surprisingly strong grip for such a bony hand. "You simply must meet my Diether."

Bulma forced a smile and swallowed a sigh, knowing it wouldn't do to offend one of Capsule Corporation's biggest investors. She was dragged towards a tall, attractive man, groomed as if he'd leapt out of those glossy magazines advertising men's wear, and trained to charm the fairer sex. He plucked a glass of wine from a tray, offering the drink to Bulma by the stem.

She accepted, brushing her fingers against his and feeling absolutely nothing from the contact. Still, she flashed him a dazzling smile, engaging him in a conversation until another person cut in and dragged the blue-haired heiress away, insisting her introduction was an absolute must. She was used to this by now, being tugged at here and there by one important client or another, not to discuss finances or future projects but to be pawned off to his or her son, nephew, or in some cases grandson.

It couldn't be helped. She was as far as the general public knew one of society's most eligible bachelorettes, though Bulma was certain that a particular royal pain in the ass would argue the validity of that title. She brought what was the fifth glass of wine to her lips, never taking more than a sip before she deftly handed the undrunk remains to a passing servant, knowing she needed to keep her wits about her in the event someone actually expressed interest in her work or decided it was time to shed his gentleman disguise and reveal the predator lurking within. Whichever came first.

After a few more mindless _You-Must-Meet-Mys_, Bulma ended up being introduced to a middle-aged man about her latest project.

For the first time that evening, Bulma's smile was genuine and she did not continue their conversation simply to be polite. As the evening wore on, her sips of wine became mouthfuls and a pleasant warmth settled in her stomach. She was growing more comfortable with him the more alcohol she drank. So comfortable that she didn't think twice about continuing their conversation in the privacy of an alcove.

The man apologized for being a little hard of hearing and asked if he could lean in close. She nodded. Then the man's stance changed ever so subtly. But Bulma saw it, recognized it even, and would have thrown her empty glass in his face to show him she would neither tolerate his advances nor submit to his ill intentions.

Except there was no need.

Because she could feel it, the searing heat of his presence, the deep rumbles of his growls, the burning intensity of his glare. She could feel _him_. His approach pulled her lips into a reprimanding, almost pitying smile for the middle-aged man.

She almost laughed when his confused look twisted into shock then twisted again into horror.

* * *

**Title:** About Face  
**Prompt:** Second

Beneath the console, Bulma struggled to sort through the tangled mess of wires and poorly mounted components the previous free-man tech had botched. She couldn't believe the slipshod work she now had to clean up. Once the console was correctly wired and the components were properly installed she crawled out from under the cramped space, surreptitiously sneaking a glance at the regeneration tank's monitor. She fought the urge to scream and instead swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.

There were only twenty minutes left before the regeneration tank was finished healing its patient.

Oh Kami, what was she going to do?

"My job," she reminded herself with a snarl beneath her breath. "And if I'm lucky, I am going to kill whoever fucked this up."

With a sharp nod, she got back to work reconfiguring the program, her fingers flying as she typed in the commands, determined to stay focused. Yet every innocuous little sound set her on edge, and she found herself constantly resisting the urge to look at the tank's timer. When another bad sector appeared on the diagnostic scan she turned the air blue with curses, less at the technical mess she would have to fix and more at the fact time was running out.

_Correction_, the faint alarm from the regeneration tank cheerfully declared.

_Time_ has _run out_, the draining liquid ominously confirmed.

As the chamber opened, Bulma knew it was now or never. She steeled her nerves, breathed deep, then turned to face him. Blue eyes widened and the free-man tech immediately spun sharply round to fix her gaze back on the monitor, her face flushed. She _will_ meet him head on, she insisted, the second the Saiyan pulls on some damn pants!


	4. Sabotage

**Author's Notes:** The continuation of Countdown. If it doesn't meet your expectations I claim the "sequels are rarely as good as the first" defense. (Also this is why I shouldn't cave into peer pressure.)  
**Warning:** Attempts to create a vague plot may have interferred with the attempt at a lemon.

* * *

**Title:** Sabotage  
**Prompt:** Courage

Bulma leaned forward, hands resting atop the keypads, blue eyes decidedly fixed on the monitor while she analyzed the alarms and error messages urgently flashing for her attention. Her brows knitted together in mild trepidation while she read through the logs, the tight, pinched line of her mouth curling into a frown at the dawning realization. Someone tried to tamper with the regeneration tanks. Tried being the operative word.

It explained the numerous corrupted sectors the diagnostic scans were showing. She wracked her mind, trying to sort through the numerous questions that surged through her thoughts, trying and failing to gain some amount focus. The only thing she was certain of was that whoever it was got interrupted before they could finish whatever it was they were planning. At least she hoped she was.

But how did they get the opportunity in the first place? Security was not something Frieza ever took lightly and his subordinates made certain to follow the Tsiru-jin's exacting standards. Every manner of insidious possibilities fought for Bulma's attention, whispering ominous, paranoia-inducing suggestions, it was all she could do to keep herself from trembling.

"This is not good," she muttered.

"On the contrary, it's perfect." A deep velvet voice behind her chuckled and all thoughts about alerting her superiors to the sabotage fled. In fact all coherent thought seemed to have fled, abandoning her, leaving her at the mercy of her instincts. The very same instincts that were screaming at her to run, to put as much distance between her and the Saiyan.

The only thing that drowned it out and kept her from doing just that was the roar of her pride, how fleeing was exactly what the arrogant bastard wanted. She wasn't stupid; she knew she wasn't nearly fast enough to get away from him even if she tried. Why waste her energy and time in something that was doomed to fail?

"Do you even know what I'm talking about?" She snapped, frowning how she couldn't bring herself to turn around and face him.

"No," he answered, the smirk audible on his lips. "But do you know what _I'm_ talking about?"

She froze as the smell of burning chemicals reached her nose, knowing he was drying himself off with his Ki as most of the Soldiers did, wishing fervently that it was just her imagination that made the intensity of the smell overwhelming, and not the reality that he was standing so close to her she could feel the heat of his body through her own clothes. She breathed in through her mouth, the slow deliberate intake of air minimally easing the tension from her body. But it was enough to keep her voice from wavering.

"Obviously it's not about the regen tanks," she snorted not so delicately then paused, allowing a sliver of doubt to creep into her. "You'd better get yourself looked at. Just in case."

Whatever semblance to calm Bulma managed to reign in was lost when she felt him press up against her back, saw his powerful arms bracing themselves on the keypads, caging her in with no room to move. Her heart leapt up to her throat when he leaned closer, his breath hot against the side of her face as he whispered, "Perhaps I could have you look at me."

"I-I'm a technician, n-not a medic," she stammered through grit teeth.

"I've read your profile, you have some training in medicine."

"That's just standard first aid," she frowned, blue eyes hardening in outrage, "And how _dare_ you go through my personnel file! That's classified information!" She would have whipped around to glare at him, to hell with his state of undress, if she had the space and leverage to do just that. Limited mobility forced her to shoot him a withering look from the corner of her eyes.

It only earned her an amused chuckle from the Saiyan prince.

"You're hardly one to talk. Don't think yourself master of subterfuge, Woman, I know you've done your own share of digging."

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from protesting in the event he was bluffing and instead snarled, "I have a name, you ass, and you obviously know it since you've read my file."

The world spun before she even noticed the powerful grip that fell on her arm. A gasp escaped her lips as she came to an abrupt halt at his sharp features twisted in a menacing scowl, his hard, obsidian eyes flickering with dark promise and primal wants. She felt her cheeks flush from the heat and power radiating from bare skin smoothed over a body of corded muscle, and she glared when his scowl upturned into a wolfish smile, his hold on her arms tightening painfully.

"I warned you, Woman, of what would happen to you if I ever got you alone," his lips were dangerously close to hers, "But your previous mentors noted that you learn better through experience."

"Learn what? That you're a hardened killer?" she scoffed, ignoring the way his proximity caused a delicious pressure to mount deep in her belly. "Some lesson, Vegeta, everyone already knows that."

Her hands found their way to his chest with the intent of pushing him away, regardless if she had the strength to accomplish it. But with her palms flat against him she could feel the faint thrum of his Ki beneath her skin, the steady beat of his heart so different from the wild jack hammering of her own made her forget what exactly it was she was planning. Kami, why was it suddenly so hard to breathe in here?

He smirked as if he could read her thoughts, drawing in even closer yet somehow able to keep a hair's breadth between them. "Playing innocent doesn't suit you, Woman."

"I was just being considerate of your pride," she shot back, her nails digging into his skin, her aqua eyes somehow able to hide her fear behind her bravado as she stared into his obsidian ones. "Though you are-" she blushed, "-more than what I expected."

Something soft brushed against the length of her leg before it slipped between her thighs, lightly stroking her core, earning him the quick succession of an unguarded moan then an indignant hiss. He drew back ever so slightly, his tail continuing to tease her as his hand released her forearm to slide towards her collar, never once looking away from her. She would have marveled at the swift precision of his fingers undoing every button to her coveralls, would have even helped him peel away the folds of her garment as he did now had she found herself in this situation under different circumstances.

Instead her clothes slowly slipped down, desperately clinging to the crook of her elbows, no longer able to shield her bare, pale skin from this unbearable heat that seemed to smolder from within. She struggled to push at his chest, her faint whimpering protests went unheeded as he increased the pressure of his tail teasing against the junction of her thighs, and a sigh slipped past her mouth at the trail his lips forged from her jaw to where her neck met her shoulder. He gave soft, light nips against her skin, a promise of gentle pain that made her shudder. His tail brushed harder, more urgent where she was most vulnerable, a promise of brutal pleasure that made her knees weak and unable to keep her standing.

He shifted her in his arms, intending to have her sit atop the keypads and was taken aback when she wound her arms around his neck, her breasts flush against his chest, at the same time she hooked her legs around his waist, pressing her still clothed lower body against his naked arousal.

"N-not on the console," she rasped through the thick haze of want his masculine scent formed in her mind. "I don't plan on accidentally canceling the diagnostic scan and having to redo the whole process."

He studied her suspiciously, and she wondered if he was doubting his skill because she still had the presence of mind to be wary of her work. Or if he was second-guessing this so-called lesson he was trying to teach her.

"Getting cold feet, Ouji-sama?" She asked with a smirk that mirrored his own, rendering his threat from days past inconsequential. His eyes narrowed dangerously at her smug expression, and growled low in his throat when she began to grind her hips against him. The sound of ripping fabric echoed through the room as his tail tore away the rest of her clothes.

Bulma received no courtesy of a warning, no chance to protest (not that she would have made any at this point but she would have appreciated the chance) as he plunged himself in her wet heat, the pull of gravity on her body combined with the strength of his thrust burying him deep inside her. She bit back a groan, never expecting him to fill her up so completely almost to the point of tearing her apart. His hands gripped at her hips, his tail wound carefully around her waist before he began to move none too gently, as if unaware of how delicate and fragile she really was. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, trying to smother her whimpers of pain, biting down hard enough to draw blood.

The coppery scent only further drew the beast out of him.

A dangerous snarl, then his lips devoured her mouth, his tongue running along the length of her wound before it tangled with hers, vying for dominance. She met him head on, her body gradually adjusting to his ferocity, and she moved in time to his motions, trying to mimic the feral intensity the Saiyan was barely restraining. His hands left her hips to smooth hungrily over her breasts, pawing, groping, teasing her flesh until her nipples peaked. With only his tail supporting her weight, Bulma found herself practically impaled on the length of his shaft.

Pressure was building deep in her loins, made her unable to articulate thoughts beyond instinctive cries, a mixture of sharp pain and maddening pleasure. She felt his chest vibrate in a growl, met each of his starving kiss with one of her own as he continued to pound into her, her body growing more and more taut with each stroke until all she could do was surrender herself to her release with an agonized keen of sweet relief and the frantic writhing of her form.

She became very aware of his tail tightening like a steel coil around her waist, of his hands bruising her pale skin as he gripped, of him muffling his own cries by once again claiming her mouth as he came inside her. She also became very aware of him setting her down, her arms and legs barely entwined around him, all strength having left her. Something was telling her to keep him from letting her go but her mind was too fuzzy and she couldn't make out why exactly over her ragged breathing.

A loud, jarring buzz sounded from behind her. She tried to angle herself towards the source but stiffened at the warning growl the Saiyan holding her made. Bulma turned to face him, her lips pulled in an angry frown, still out of breath and still unlikely to go along quietly with whatever else he planned.

"How long did you say you were working on this scanning process?" he asked.

She blinked, his question taking her completely by surprise. A cruel grin tugged across his face. She felt his tail unwind from her waist, heard the faint click of keypads being pressed as she craned her neck to the screen. Her eyes widened at the prompt to abort the scan that awaited confirmation.

"D-don't!" she gasped, trying to squirm out of his grip, and failing miserably.

"I told you, Woman, to pray I never catch you alone," he purred into her ear before his tail quickly confirmed the prompt.

* * *

**Thank You's:** babysunflower and the people over at the Blue and Black writing comm. (Yes, I'm shamelessly pimping the comm.)


	5. Divergence: The Dark Prince

**Disclaimers:** Dragon Ball Z and its respective characters belong to Akira Toriyama.

**Author's Notes: **This is perhaps one of the darkest pieces I've written for this pairing and I will not deny that it's mostly due to Lisalu's incredible epic "A Glad Day" (which you all should read because it is just fantastic). I originally intended for this to be a sort of separate series on its own but as with all my writing, my muses like to leave me hanging so all I have is this. I have a vague idea of what's really happening but for now, I'm sticking this in my one-shot collections. If I do continue it, I'll probably post the rest here.

**Warning:** Non-con and violence. If either triggers you, please don't read this.

**Intimacy Challenge Prompt:** Smile  
**Title: **Divergence: The Dark Prince

Dawn snuck a slender shaft of sunlight through parted curtains, down the carpeted floor of the royal chambers, up along the silken red sheets, and over Vegeta's eyes. He roused from slumber, shifting his body to turn his gaze away from the window overlooking the Eastern Mountains of Vegeta-sei and towards the pale back of the woman curled next to him. He reached out for her, his fingers threading through her silky azure locks before trailing over the equally silken skin of her shoulders. Draping an arm over her waist, he felt her tense at his touch, and he smirked at her reaction.

Even after five years he hadn't tired of the way she responded to his touch, the way she tasted when his mouth and tongue roved over her skin and lips, the way she gasped and crooned and cried when he sated himself with that delicate body of hers regardless if he was gentle or rough, and the way having her still felt like a challenge, like a battle to win, which he did. Which he _would_. Time and time again.

In some small part of his mind that could still think in the midst of coupling, Vegeta knew he wouldn't be able to keep her for much longer with his coronation approaching in a few years time. Crown princes were free to keep as many bed-slaves they wanted. But a King was expected to set aside his mistresses for his Queen, and would not be allowed a concubine until a worthy heir was produced. It was not the wait that Vegeta found a thorn in his side. He could lie in wait for his enemies in battle until the very heavens fell.

No, he simply could not stand the idea of another man laying his hands on the alien woman he had on a near-nightly basis.

His Chikyuu-jin bed-slave had been part of a tithe offering from one of the numerous planets under the Saiyan Empire. Along with the raw resources of the small, blue planet were sons and daughters from the ruling houses, warriors who might provide some form of entertainment, and the surviving mastertechs. Despite the Chikyuu-jins' resemblance to the Saiyans, the crown prince openly showed his distaste for the ki-less aliens when they were presented to him and his father. His features unchanging of the unimpressed scowl until his gaze met the insolent, blue-eyed glare of the female Chikyuu-jin.

He growled low and narrowed his eyes at her. She mirrored his expression and squared her shoulders back.

There was a brief bark of laughter to his right where his father, the King, sat on his throne. "Seems like Chikyuu's mastertechs have more spine than their warriors."

Vegeta only snorted in response, folding his arms across his chest, half-expecting his father to pick the brazen female for himself, and nearly raising a brow in surprise when his old man opted for a different female.

The King recognized the suspicion in the prince's eyes and he chuckled, "You have been doing well in quelling the rebels while keeping casualties on our side at a minimum. Consider her a reward."

"I need no such thing," he grunted. Though his eyes roved over the rest of the offered Chikyuu-jins, Vegeta kept finding his attention drawn back to the delicate, blue-haired female and the fire blazing in those wide, too-blue eyes. This hadn't gone unnoticed. Not by his father who once again insisted he take her, nor the woman who continued to openly show her defiance by meeting his gaze and curling her lips in disdain.

"Bring her to my Eastern villa," the prince instructed to the guards, ignoring the approving nod from his father, he was too focused on the look of abject horror washing across the Chikyuu-jin woman's delicate features and the maddening fluctuation of her negligible ki. He was waiting for the moment her bravado slipped, for that precise point in time when she would beg for mercy. The guards had dragged her kicking and screaming an impressive array of curses but only fear and anger and hate was all he had gotten from her.

The idea of breaking such an impudent little wench had never seemed more appealing to the prince than it did then. She will learn the folly of challenging him, and she will pay in spades before he finally ended her miserable existence. Or so he thought.

When evening came and Vegeta was finally allowed to withdraw from the tedium of court politics, he returned to his villa to begin the breaking of his new bed slave. It did not take long for him to track down her tiny Ki-signature to a bedroom locked from the outside. Silently he undid the lock, opening the door he found her asleep on the bed, dressed in red silk, with her back turned to him. Remnants of what had once been the electronic furnishings of the room were scattered about the floor.

He shouldn't have wondered why there were fresh scorch marks on the reinforced windows or the dents surrounding the sill, his father had mentioned the woman was a mastertech. But the prince held little regard for any specie that resorted to machinery, even less for those who had yet to become space-faring. So when he entered the room, he didn't expect a shrill wail of an alarm to assault his sensitive hearing, nor did he anticipate one of the discarded gadgets on the floor to spew smoke. He brought a gloved hand to his mouth as he pushed the door open wide, surprised by the sheer amount of the blinding gas there was.

Vegeta sensed the woman take full advantage of his momentary disorientation to slip past him and out the room. And behind his hand he smirked at her little ploy to stall the inevitable. Did she think to outrun him? He flared his ki, the pulse of his battle-aura silencing the alarm and dissipating the smoke as he stepped outside. He saw her in the middle of a dead run heading straight for the veranda. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what must be going through her mind, but he knew she was extremely foolish, and suspected she was a little mad, to attempt such a thing.

In the blink of an eye he was in front of her and she let out a startled gasp as she crashed into him. His arms shot out to wind about her waist, pulling her flush against him as he stared down at her, chiding her the way an adult would a child who didn't know better. His condescension had her baring her teeth at him and struggling uselessly in his grip, all the while hissing, "D-don't touch me! I will make you regret it if you do!"

To add insult to injury, he effortlessly slung her over his shoulder before heading to his bedroom. She screamed and flailed and kicked, her frail body trembling when he promised her she was in for a long night now that she'd gotten him worked up.

He wanted her to realize it was her own fault she was in this situation to begin with. That he would never have taken his father up on his suggestion had she not been stupid and foolhardy enough to challenge him. That she wouldn't have been thrown unceremoniously onto Vegeta's bed, the red silk of her gown torn viciously to reveal her pale, bare skin, trapped between the soft mattress and the prince's hard body, helpless to resist his advances, had she simply kept her eyes downcast.

But because she hadn't, the Saiyan prince thought it his duty to teach the impudent Chikyuu-jin a lesson.

She keened like a banshee when he buried himself into her untried body, her back arching off the bed, her nails raking across whatever patch of his skin was within reach, tears streaming down her cheeks. He gave out a pleased groan, savoring in stillness her tight grip around his length before he began to move. Slowly at first, relishing each pain-laced scream that tore from her throat with his every thrust, then plunging deeper and faster into her in time to her frenzied shrieks.

Old gods, she was sweeter than anything he'd ever tasted.

She thrashed wildly beneath him, hissing alien curses between angry gasps, biting whenever he pressed his mouth against hers. Her efforts only made him laugh, cruel, and mocking of the hatred burning in the depths of her sky-blue eyes, because he knew there was nothing she could do to make good her promise of revenge. If anything it only served to further arouse him, bringing him to some inexplicable height of need and want, pushing him over the edge with a ferocity he had never felt before.

"Beg me for mercy, slave," he growled against her sweat-slicked skin, feeling her heartbeat spike as he nipped his teeth lightly against the pulse point of her throat, his hands roughly caressing her breasts and teasing her nipples until they peaked under his efforts, "And I might grant you death."

"I have a _name_, asshole," she snarled venomously despite having nearly screamed herself hoarse. The edge of her glare not dulled in the least despite her bleary eyes. "And Bulma Briefs begs for no one. Least of all a psycho like _you_."

His hand found itself encircling her throat, the skin beneath his fingers giving way with the slightest of pressures. His onyx eyes glittered with wicked glee as he once again began to move in and out of her battered body, his hand straying from her neck to grip at her hips, pulling her against him to meet his thrusts.

"You will regret your choice." He smirked wolfishly at her when she bit back a whimper of pain and turned her face away, watching her features cinch in agony, allowing his words to sink into her mind as he sank into her body again and again.

He came with a groan deep in his throat and the woman weakly warbling gasps in his ears. He collapsed on top of her for a moment, propping himself onto his elbows before it became impossible for her to breathe, still buried deep inside her wet heat. He watched the quick rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to catch her breath, his gaze moving up to her damp blue hair matted to her throat, then to her face where those too-blue eyes were staring up at him in a mixture of fear and dread and thinly veiled disgust.

"You were better than I expected for someone unschooled," he chuckled. She opened her mouth to say something then thought the better of it as she tried to twist away from him. He caught her by the chin, forcing her to look at him and the wild, manic grin that split across his face. "You ready to beg, slave?"

The woman grimaced, "I'd rather die first."

"Pity that you will live to suffer for your defiance."

* * *

It had taken him the better part of three years to finally break her will, a feat that had earned her some modicum of his respect and his constant rough use of her. When she finally accepted her fate, he thought he would tire of her, expecting she would be little more than a breathing doll the way the other bed-slaves had become. To his surprise she was never unresponsive, it was a testament to her will, he supposed. She continued to scream from the force of his thrusts, whimpering when he made her bleed whenever his teeth broke her skin, sobbing when he made her beg for her own release those nights it amused him to give her pleasure rather than pain.

He doesn't know why he would never allow her to simply lay beneath him. He doesn't really want to dwell too much on it. So he simply decided that he wanted nothing more than to hear her voice, to see her react, and knowing it was all by his hand had made it all the more satisfying. Because, god of gods, he doesn't think there will ever be enough lifetimes for him live through to ever tire of her, to make setting her aside for his Queen the slightest bit bearable. Some part of him was disgusted by this notion because she shouldn't mean anything to him. He was the crown prince of all Saiyans. She was a bed-slave. Just a bed-slave. But she was _his_.

And Vegeta had never quite learned to share or to let go of anything that was his.

At that thought, his lips pulled into a scowl when he suddenly recalled the odd dream he had last night. A dream with voices speaking in an alien tongue, followed by the disturbing sensation of being torn apart. He had flared his ki in response, heard the voices recoil in shock then a soft, desperate whimper that was both familiar and foreign all at once answered the voices. A wisp of blue flashed before him, the sight of pale skin fading into nothingness and eyes the color of the sky slowly blinking out of existence filling his dream.

He was wide awake now, his entire body tense in black rage, uncertain if it was because he dreamed of his bed-slave being taken from him by cowardly, unseen forces, or that the bow of her mouth was curved with joy the entire time.

The arm he had draped around her waist tightened its grip as he instinctively drew her to him, uncaring whether or not it would wake her. He needed to assure himself that she was still here, still _his_. She turned to face him, sleep-laden eyes slowly fluttering open to his hard gaze. He expected her to blanche as she had always done, to shrink away, futile as the attempt was with his arm firmly keeping her close. Instead she... she did what he had never seen her do before.

She _smiled_.

At him.

And it was radiant and warm and had this deep sense of affection that carved a hollow ache in his chest because he had never been privy to such a sight before. He pushed the unnamed feeling away, focusing instead on what he knew: Anger. And he was angry, _furious_, that she dared keep something so pleasing from him. Before he could make this known she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his in a light, feathery kiss, her slim hand resting atop his chest just over his heart. He almost leapt back at her audacity, but the shock had stilled him, and he felt her chuckle against his mouth, "Well, good morning, my dear Ouji-sama."

Her voice was strong, if not slightly teasing, and melodically sweet in his ears, far sweeter than her choked sobs or bitten back whimpers of pain or those screams of tortured ecstasy. Missing was the undertone of bitterness and gone was the whisper of unmitigated loathing in her words whenever he bade her speak. He did not _-could not-_ recognize what it was about the way she was that morning, only that he knew it made his temper flare because he already had trouble coming to terms with the fact he would have to give her up. This sudden, unexpected change in her demeanor was threatening to make it even more difficult.

Vegeta felt her push at him, gently but persistently, as if she was both asking and expecting him to go along with whatever she had planned. He growled at her. She flashed him that smile again. Before he even knew what was happening, he rolled onto his back and let her straddle him. Immediately his hands found themselves holding her by her hips, his eyes narrowed suspiciously at her intentions.

With an exaggerated sigh and laughter bubbling in her throat, she threaded her fingers through his hair, leaning forward to nuzzle the tip of her nose against his, "Will you relax? I am trying to have sex with you, but hey, if you aren't interested that's fine with me."

Her candor stunned him and as she rocked her hips against him, wicked mischief curving her lips, wide eyes looking at him appraisingly, he couldn't help but be reminded of the brazen woman that had first caught his attention half a decade ago. But his thoughts were soon interrupted as she ran her slim fingers over his chest, marveling the sharp contrast of his rough, sun-kissed skin beneath her pale, silken flesh. Slowly, almost fondly, she began to labor kisses on every inch of his face, down to the hollow of his neck, leaving no mark when she nipped him lightly before returning to focus her attention on his mouth.

The prince didn't know what to make of her behavior, didn't understand what prompted such actions from her, but the organ that stirred to life between his legs didn't care. His hands smoothed over her hips towards her back, cupping the curve of her rump as his tail ran across the length of her leg. At the furred touch she tensed, suddenly sitting back up, her brows knitted together in confusion as she stared in disbelief at his tail.

Patches of her unmarred skin suddenly discolored to ugly bruises, in places he vaguely remembered gripping so hard she cried out last night. Her shoulders began to quake, her eyes began to mist, and she pulled her hands away from him to cover her face. To his disgust he was painfully aware of the broken contact. Snarling, he grabbed her wrists to pin them to her sides, and was greeted with the quivering gaze of the broken bed-slave.

He felt his stomach clench and an uncomfortable tightness form behind his eyes. But he had her on her back before he could give this any further thought, his tail roughly violating her while his hands held her legs apart. "You little bitch," he glowered, "What kind of mind-games were you trying to play?"

"I-I'm sorry, Ouji-sama," she apologized in between whimpers, voice no longer strong and vibrant but a resigned rasp filled to the brim with hate and self-loathing. "I, I wasn't playing any mind-games. I swear."

"The fuck you weren't." He had his teeth bared in fury, his tail pulling away from the junction of her thighs to lash agitatedly behind him. With a growl he shoved himself into her to the hilt, and she arched off the bed, her mouth open in a silent scream. Viciously he began to pound into her, watching the steady downpour of tears wash down her cheeks, her blue eyes staring at him mournfully, her hands gripping at his arms, her nails digging into his biceps. Unexpectedly, she hooked her legs around him before burying her face into the crook of his neck where she continued to quietly cry.

The hollow ache in his chest returned, insistent and more pronounced. And for the first time, he found he did not enjoy hearing her in pain by his hand.

Cursing violently in his native tongue, Vegeta wrenched himself away, storming out of the bedroom without sparing a backward glance for the bruised, trembling Chikyuu-jin, doing his best to ignore the heavy weight settling in his chest at the sound of her faint sobs.


End file.
